


Sweet Dreams

by 100hearteyes, ButMakeItGay



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Character Deaths - Sorta, F/F, Fluff, Happy Ending, Multiple Universes Colliding, Promise, Violence, will add tags and characters as we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24327949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100hearteyes/pseuds/100hearteyes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButMakeItGay/pseuds/ButMakeItGay
Summary: What if dreams were more than just dreams? When worlds collide behind the shuttering of lashes, how can one carry the weight of transgressions committed at the hands of an altered reality?---------------------Or, Clexa Dreams AU
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 36
Kudos: 90





	Sweet Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> READ! THE! TAGS! 
> 
> Also, GUYS! It's me and Mars, trust us. We won't do you dirty (not like that, you pervs)
> 
> Special thanks to Dreamsaremywords and Commander-leksa for being our first reads and betas <3

"Do you have any idea… how  _ long _ I have waited for this moment?" she asked quietly, fingers gripping tightly around the butt of the pistol she held to Clarke's temple. Lexa relished the solid feeling of it pressing firmly against Clarke's skull as she dug the muzzle into porcelain flesh.

Maybe this was what people meant when they spoke of cherishing the little joys in life...

The glare Clarke slanted at her through narrowed eyes, shades of hatred and disgust flashing within the simmering depths of blue, made the moment all the more satisfying.

But still, a look Lexa was perfectly happy to be seeing for the last time in this world.

Around them, splatters of red and black blood dotted the white floor and corners of metal tables, painting a ghastly picture of the confrontation that had led them to this point. Although they’d met almost by chance this time around, their twisted game had resulted in its typically unspeakable violent end. Bodies thrown over tables, lips split by punches, skins slashed with knives. 

It was comforting, in a way; in its own grim predictability. 

Clarke must have been distracted, something else must have been on her mind. Lexa knew better than to think it had been all her. But she wasn’t above taking advantage, and when Clarke had let her focus slip, Lexa had seized it in a flourish.

_ 'Cock the gun, pull the trigger.' _

Fuck, how she loved the deadly mantra with every fiber of her being. 

Still, Lexa wasn't prepared for the shock of her triumph, stunned and glassy-eyed as she’d watched Clarke be thrown back by the impact of the bullet piercing her shoulder and coming out the other side. At seeing blood spilling and spraying the wall a sticky, crimson red. It had almost been unsettling to register the look of shock on Clarke’s face as she fell heavily on the floor, all her color of fury draining from her cheeks.

It had felt like… a dream come true.

Lexa allowed a cruel smile to unfurl across her face, twisting the metaphorical knife that would make these final moments that much more delicious. "I do have to say though, Clarke," she clicked, quietly kicking the vowels against the roof of her mouth with measured violence, as though the very sound of it were a slur against her, "while words can never express how  _ much _ I am going to enjoy this… I will never forgive myself for wasting so much time and energy, on someone so unbelievably…  _ pathetic." _

"Fuck you, Lexa."

"Mmm... No thank you," she whispered, smiling in soft contrast to the harshly gritted words. "You're not really my type."

The answering snort of revulsion caused a perverse laugh to bubble up. She was unsurprised by the woman's fits of attitude persisting till the bitter end. She could appreciate it on some level, a bizarre yet lingering respect for the person she was about to gleefully dispatch. 

If there was anything positive she could say about the woman knelt before her, it was that through it all, Clarke could always be counted on to be exactly who she was. 

Lexa broke from her thoughts as Clarke adjusted under the barrel, metal instinctively pressing forward as calloused hands slowly lowered to the woman's sides. 

"You know," Clarke started quietly, the words floating up barely loud enough to reach her ears. Lexa hated the inexplicable impulse to lean closer to properly hear. "When my father died, the world turned so dark… I never thought I'd feel happiness again."

A crease involuntarily marred Lexa's brow, jaw tightening to concrete as glittering blue pools slowly moved upward and the head of sweat and blood darkened blonde turned toward her in incremental shifts.

"But I did… And it was all thanks to you."

The air around her thickened as Lexa stilled. She stared down, silent, as a sickening feeling soured her stomach, Clarke's words landing with a splash and a hiss over the glowing coals of hatred roiling inside. 

She knew better than to take the bait.

And yet. 

"... Explain."

"Oh, Lexa," Clarke smiled up with empty eyes, the sides of her lips curling with wrathful intent. A cruel lilt colored her words, the slithering sting of them pulsing with fury as each one fell from her lips. "Sweet, naive, Lexa."

And though she was the one holding the gun, Lexa felt power slip through her fingers. Clarke had always been able to turn complicated situations in her favor with just a few, perfectly uttered words. With the eyes of an angel and the tongue of a serpent, she’d talk, cheat, and manipulate her way out of any corner. And now, Lexa felt herself scrambling for control, trying and failing to keep as tight a grip on the situation as she had on the pistol pressed to Clarke’s forehead.

The sound of her thumb cocking the trigger cracked through the air between them, though the grin simply continued to widen. 

"You truly never learn."

The gun went off before she even realized she'd squeezed the trigger, her body instinctively jerking at the sudden jolt of a lunge. Lexa crumpled as white-hot pain shot from her hip down her thigh, knees buckling at the force of the blow. 

She never saw the blade before it slashed wickedly down to the bone.

Immediately hands were on her; catching her by the collar and shoving her back with enough force to make her head hit the floor with a solid, echoing thud. Her ears rang from the blow and reverberating gunshot, the breathtaking amount of pain from the stab wound lancing up and down her side.

Legs settled on either side of Lexa's waist, her panicked yelp cut off by Clarke's hands ripping off the protective leather covering and wrapping tightly around her throat.

It was only then that Lexa’s gaze focused at last, and she found Clarke’s eyes above her, raging and full of hatred. She held them, cold and unrelenting. She held them despite the pain, even as her legs kicked and thrashed forward, trying to throw the enemy off of her.

"You really never do learn," Clarke grunted in low, guttural heaves as Lexa's hands gripped and scrabbled uselessly at her cuffed wrists and arms. Locking her elbows, Clarke only squeezed tighter against the flailing beneath her. "You think I don't have a dozen ways to kill you right now? You think I'm stupid enough to not know how you operate?"

Lexa felt her eyes bulging in their sockets, the pressure swelling inside her skull mirroring the mounting panic beneath her breast as the world began to close in around them. Even as darkness bled into her vision, she held on to Clarke’s piercing gaze like a beacon. She wouldn’t give Clarke the pleasure of going out like a coward.

She prayed the green of her eyes would be seared into Clarke’s memory, that the hatred in them would turn her every dream into a nightmare.

_ "This _ is my happiness.  _ This _ keeps me going... From the second I felt that knife slide between your ribs so long ago, I've wanted to do it again and again and  _ again… _ But this will do for now." Clarke punctuated her words by tightening her hold, thighs clamping mercilessly into Lexa’s sides and sending searing pain racing across her hips and legs. "Guess neither of our aim is as good as it used to be."

And that was enough to clear the fog.

Lexa's brain latched on to the words, the small reminder of her earlier mistake. 

_ Our aim. _

Through the tendrils of black creeping and tunneling over her vision, Lexa's eyes snapped to the sluggish bleeding that seeped through darkened blue leather. Her hand released its weakening grip on the wrist at her throat, flying up to Clarke's shoulder as she sunk a finger deep into the bullet wound.

A howl wrenched from the woman above her and the hold around her neck flew away. Lexa's lungs burned as her body greedily pulled in the cold, metallic air. She felt like she was sucking lead into her lungs, mixed with steel and sweat and blood. 

Using every ounce of strength that still rattled her bones, Lexa shoved Clarke off of her, curling and yanking her finger viciously as the momentum flung them apart. She rolled to the side, red-slicked hands searching desperately. Her throat ached and throbbed with every cough, every breath; her mind a blank fog beyond singular goals like 'air' and 'gun' and 'kill'. Her ears heard groans and a clattering of things behind her, things Lexa couldn't begin to focus on at the moment.

She felt her already thundering heart stutter and kick at the familiar, cool metal under the tips of her fingers. Lexa clutched the gun's weight in her palm as she scrambled to her feet, arms and stance falling into their default setting of locked and loaded.

Blonde hair glowed a sickly white under the artificial light of the room as Lexa's eyes focused and found Clarke once again, seeing the woman speeding toward the doorway far across from her. 

Lexa fired off a ringing series of shots, trying and failing to keep the fleeing woman squarely in her crosshairs. The solid thump of their boots echoed out alongside the pop and clang of bullets in the space around them. She watched Clarke round the corner, and Lexa cursed loudly as she upped her pace despite the screaming of her lungs and leg.

Skidding to a stop on the threshold of the doorway, Lexa cautiously checked around the frame just in time to see Clarke duck around another blind corner. Immediately picking up the chase, she flew down the empty, narrow corridor, and then another… and another.

And another.

"Goddamn it," she spat quietly to herself with each passing chamber, not a glimpse or clue or shift of blonde anywhere in sight. She felt herself tiring in earnest, her legs turning to lead and her hip feeling as though it were on fire. Even as her mind and vision grew fuzzy, Lexa propelled herself forward on sheer hatred alone.

She had been so close. 

_ So close. _

Maybe this was the price to pay for hubris. 

For trying to enjoy the moment instead of just getting it over with. She should have known better than to toy with her food. And now, just as the mouse had escaped the lion, Lexa was about to lose the best shot she’d ever had at finally,  _ finally  _ killing Clarke Griffin.

Bursting through the last set of doors that led to the only exit, Lexa felt the fire reignite tenfold. Stumbling slightly, she aimed as best she could while running toward the figure darting across the room, closing a dizzying eye to focus as she continued forward and pulled the trigger. 

Lexa saw Clarke dodge shot after shot without faltering a single step. 

_ Damnit.  _

Maybe her aim really was going...

And then, as quick as it began, it was over.

She couldn't stop an enraged scream erupting from her lips as the doors flung open against Clarke's violent shove, an echoing cacophony of  _ "No!" _ reverberating against metal as the woman disappeared into the night.

Into the night where she could not follow.

_ Would _ not follow, unwilling to endanger any more innocent lives caught in the crossfire of the perverse revolving game each woman seemed to loathe and live for.

Lexa stumbled to a stop when the doors swung closed, chest heaving as she leaned against a wall for support. Around her, the streamlines of metal looked out of focus, the light dimmer than her eyes remembered and the air harder to swallow. The mirrors cut into dull grey walls made the room feel even tighter. She clutched her hip and felt blood ooze past her fingers, reliving the sensation of the blade tearing at her skin and ripping out the other side.

She played the confrontation over and over in her head, a smug smile and hollowed eyes dancing in her mind. A familiar curling of ire boiled in the pit of her stomach once more, apoplectic at the idea she had missed her chance  _ again. _

Lexa silently seethed for several moments while she tried to collect her composure, her jaw gritting and grinding mercilessly despite her better efforts. She finally shoved away from the wall to turn back-- then stopped, her reflection in the mirror she had been resting beside catching her full attention. 

Green eyes swept over herself slowly, taking in the entirety of the aftermath. 

The cuts, she was used to. The blood, easily washed away. The hole in her hip didn’t even faze her really; not now, not after all this time.

But the blossoming ring of purpled bruises that wrapped around her neck turned her entire world red.

_ "Fuck." _

Lexa felt herself trembling as she counted each clear imprint of eight choking fingers, swelling with untempered rage at the two darkening black thumbprints that tattooed the curve of her windpipe. Her fingers traced the lines of broken capillaries, a prickling sensation whispering over the tender, bruised skin. She could practically feel the ghost of Clarke’s hands lingering on her then.

Picturing that face looming back at her instead of her own reflection, imagining the look of deep satisfaction Clarke was probably sporting at that very moment, Lexa finally snapped. 

With rageful vengeance she slammed the butt of her pistol into the taunting face, shattering the world with broken glass and a roar. 

"FUCK-"

Lexa shot up from her pillow with the crashing sound, the ghost of the thundering scream dying in her throat as she struggled for breath. Wild green eyes darted around the space surrounding her, half expecting to find the cloud of shards still settling in another world.

"Fuck," she breathed in the silent bedroom, hand resting over her heaving chest and feeling the bounding of her heart through the soft cotton of her sleep shirt as she tried to shake off the vestiges of suffocating rage.

_ In, out. _

_ In. Out. _

_ In… Out… _

She wound her fingers into the curls of her hair and pressed palms over her eyes, falling back onto her pillow, trying to chase the dream away.

_ 'Dream,' _ she thought to herself with bitter disgust. 

She wondered how it was possible to harbor such hatred towards another person. To look at someone and feel that urgent need to rid the world of their existence. To  _ relieve  _ the universe of a human life whose existence you had personally deemed reprehensible.

It ate away at her every time. Even now she felt it pulsing in her temples, the tips of her fingers, the erratic beat of her heart; contaminating her, corroding her insides like rancid, acrid poison that tasted bitter on the tongue.

She always needed a few minutes to cleanse her mind and soul. Lexa yearned for the feeling of a warm body beside her to curl into, with tender arms holding her tight and soft words being whispered like secrets into her ears.

After what happened in the other world, her bed had never felt so empty.

When she finally removed her hands and looked around the dimly lit room, black spots danced and marred her vision from how forcefully she had tried to wipe away the memories. She waited until they disappeared, taking the last dregs of her anger with them. The distant sound of pots and pans reminding her of the day ahead, Lexa groaned in protest as she pulled the blanket off and swung her legs over and off the bed.

The feel of the threadbare rug under her feet, rough and scraping (she’d been meaning to buy a new one for months), was another welcome step towards reality. 

Her reality. 

Somewhere, sometime — somehow —, there was another her whose existence was made of walls as pale as ghosts and hatred as deep as the ocean. Where home was simply a place, and love was a concept as foreign as the feeling of bullets and blades tearing through her body was familiar.

Her hand flew to her hip almost by instinct at the thought. But nothing was there. No pain. No scar. Just the memory of them. As they always ever were...

Again, the faraway sound of steady clinking and clattering pulled Lexa from her reverie. On shaky legs still juiced with lingering adrenaline, she stood up and made her way downstairs as her stomach grumbled its hollow need for food.

The shuffling sounds of cooking got louder as she made her way to the kitchen. Turning the corner, Lexa found herself unable to tame the smile that bloomed on her lips at the sight. A vision of criminally short shorts sitting askew on flared hips, a sleep shirt riding up the dip of a freckled back, and a wild, unkempt tangle of sleepy hair sent a pleasant flip to her stomach.

As though sensing her presence despite Lexa's cotton-soft steps, the other woman looked over her shoulder, finding Lexa’s eyes immediately. Her whole face lit up, matching the brilliance of Lexa's own wide grin. Walking the few steps that separated them, she wound her arms around Lexa’s neck with a sigh.

"Morning, baby."

"Mmm, morning," Lexa hummed, smiling into the first kiss of the day. "How'd you sleep?"

"Better than you from the sound of it," Clarke frowned, running consoling fingers through the tendrils of Lexa's slumber-mussed hair. "I got up a little early to make you coffee, I figured you'd need it… You kept grunting and making funky noises last night. And you kneed me. Twice."

Sucking in an apologetic breath, Lexa pecked her wife's lips again to show her regret. "Sorry, love."

"It's okay," Clarke assured, pulling away to finish up cooking their breakfast as Lexa took a seat in her usual corner of their cozy kitchen nook. "Which one was it this time?"

Lexa breathed a heavy, weathered sigh. 

"Yikes… That bad?"

"You have no idea," she mumbled, accepting a mug of potent black coffee and plate of toast and eggs from her wife with a soft, grateful smile. "Maybe I should just look into sleeping pills again."

"But you hate those," Clarke reminded, taking her seat on Lexa's right while sipping from her own slightly chipped mug.

"I know, but I hate dealing with this more. I hate… _feeling_ _them_. Some of them at least."

"Well tell me which one it was," her wife asked around a mouthful of eggs, bumping her shoulder affectionately. "Gettin' frisky behind my back again?"

"No," Lexa snorted a laugh and rolled her eyes while doing more playing with her food than eating it. "As much as I can't stand those either, I would take those over this one any day…"

"Oh," Clarke clued in sadly, placing her fork down and shuffling Lexa into her arms. "... Did you-"

"No, thank God," Lexa cut her off in a swift edge of relief, not even wanting to hear the words. Her stomach lurched again as a whispered memory of acrid hatred slithered into her mind. "I can't stand even thinking about it."

She buried her face in her wife's neck, turning into the soft escape to greedily take in calming lungfuls of the lingering scent of Clarke's shampoo as a hand brushed the length of her back. 

"It's okay, Lex… You know it's gonna be okay… When that day comes-"

"Can we-" she quickly hushed out, pulling back far enough to gaze at Clarke with large pleading eyes. "Can we talk about something else?"

Lexa felt her body relax under soft hands and an even softer twinkling of understanding eyes, breathing her relief into the skin of Clarke's neck as she let herself be pulled back in.

"Sure, baby," her wife soothed with a smile before her voice shifted to a low, teasing hum. "... Let's talk about how fantastic I am for making you food after you kicked the crap out of me all night. My ego can always use the boost."

A puff of laughter burst from Lexa's mouth, a familiar warmth filling as she playfully swatted at the only woman who had ever managed to chase away the demons of her worlds. To take the weight of her burdens and turn them upside down; to fill Lexa with lightness, and happiness, and a deeper sense of calm than she had ever felt upon waking. To accept her, and protect her heart, and--

_ Fuck, _ Lexa really loved her wife.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to hit us up anytime on tumblr at @100hearteyes or @butmakeitgayblog and leave kudos and comments to let us know what you think! :)


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